Oh/ Ah My Goddess does not belong to me.
With a groan, the goddess Urd opened her eyes. Damn, what happened? Her body felt like it had been pummeled, frozen, and then thawed in a deep-fryer, and her head didn't feel much better either. The last time I felt remotely close to this was when I discovered sake…I wonder if Belldandy can—
Her eyes widened. "Belldandy!" She sat bolt upright and instantly regretted it as waves of pain and nausea rolled over her. She nearly went under again, but Urd had certainly never been one to give up quickly. The world started to phase out, but after a moment of stillness and concentration it snapped back into focus.
Glancing down, she realized she was in some kind of bed, and the sterile, aseptic look of the room suggested some sort of medical facility. As she gingerly turned her head to examine the room, questions began popping into her head. She realized that she had no memory of coming to this place, or of anything since Celestin had—
That's right, she thought bitterly. That bastard put me out and left to fetch my sister! Angrily, she started to rise again, but a hand on her shoulder forestalled that action."
"Easy, there," a firm, but not unkind voice told her. "You probably shouldn't be up yet."
She looked up. Towering above her was a god best described as, well, a giant. "Hild's left tit, who are you?"
The god chuckled softly. "I think that's the first time I've ever heard it asked that way." He started to smile, but something stopped the gesture from rising all the way to his eyes. "My name's Aramis." He took a closer look at her. "You're Urd, aren't you?"
"Where am I?" Urd asked. What's going on?"
The red-caped god thought for a moment. "To answer your first question, you're in the Division hospital. As for what's going on, I really don't know all that much myself."
"I'm in a Combat Division hospital?" Urd asked incredulously. "How the hell did I get here? Where's Celestin?"
"Well, Celestin's been imprisoned, I know that much." Aramis shrugged. "But I have no idea how you got here."
Urd stared at him as if he was mildly crazy. "Then why were you waiting for me to wake up?"
"Well, I was actually coming in to see him…" Aramis pointed to the bed next to her.
The white-haired goddess turned her head to the other direction. Laying on the gurney was another god, unconscious, his exposed upper torso covered in angry red scars that were just beginning to heal from obvious trauma.
Urd was taken aback by the sight. "Almighty," she gasped. "Did Celestin fight?"
"He did," Aramis confirmed, "but this wasn't his work. This was the work of the Daimakaicho." His voice was bitter. "Hild did this."
Urd opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. Her mother had done this. What could she possibly say?
"I'm sorry," she finally murmured, feeling at that moment lower than she had ever felt.
"Don't be." Aramis shook his head. "It's not like you had anything to do with it anyways."
It took a second for the words to register with the goddess. They were so simple, so mundane—a normal response. But for her, they meant everything. For the first time in longer than she could remember, someone hadn't looked at her and seen the child of a demon—hadn't seen the daughter of the Daimakaicho herself.
And the thing was, if anyone, Aramis had the greatest disposition to hate her. As a member of the Combat Division, he had probably spent his life fighting against devils, and back before the Treaty had probably lost his share of friends to the War.
Urd shivered involuntarily. And he may even be losing one right now… But the point was, even though no one would have blamed him for hating her on sight, he had reassured her that she was not a demon.
Even as an indirect reference, that meant a great deal to her.
For just a moment, the shields of haughtiness and suspicion Urd had erected during her long years in Heaven to protect herself came down. For just a moment, she felt the way she had when her father had taken her hand and led her into the light.
She smiled weakly at the injured god on the gurney. "You've got a good friend here," she whispered, and she touched him lightly with her hand.
And abruptly drew it back with a sharp intake of breath. She had felt like something had shocked her! Her fingertips were tingling in a way she had never felt before.
Aramis must have heard her gasp, because he turned from his thoughts and looked back at her. "Are you okay?"
"I think so," Urd replied. "But I just felt the strangest sensation…"
She would have continued, but the injured god's eyes suddenly snapped wide open. He cried out in pain and flexed against his restraints, his pupils dancing as they tracked unknown assailants.
Aramis didn't waste any time. "Healer!" he cried. "Medic!"
A handsome young god in white robes rushed into the room, looking flustered. His eyes widened as he saw the god crying through clenched teeth as his back spasmed wildly. "What in the name of…"
He rushed to a cabinet on the wall and withdrew an autoinjector filled with a pale straw-colored liquid. Grabbing it, he stabbed it down into the injured god's leg. Within a few seconds, the god's teeth unclenched and he settled back down onto the gurney.
The healer looked over at Urd and Aramis. "Did either of you do anything?" he demanded.
Urd was still shocked that her touch could provoke such a reaction. "I—I touched him, for just a second," she stammered. Her heart sank. Maybe I really am a demon…
The white-robed god shook his head. "I can't imagine why a touch would provoke that reaction." Frowning, he muttered an incantation and passed his hand over the god's body. His expression moved from concentration to near-disbelief. "That can't be right," he murmured, shaking his head. "Something's wrong."
Abruptly, he bent to examine the again-unconscious god. "Wow," was all he could say.
Urd took a closer look at the injured god and realized something else was happening. The angry red wounds were fading. Already they had lightened to pinkish welts, and in some places the skin had regained a normal tone.
"He's getting better," the tall god next to her breathed.
The healer had let a cautious smile form on his face. "Yes. He's recovering, although I have no idea how." He turned to Urd. "It seems, Lady Urd, that you have the magic touch." He straightened. "I'm going to have to report this and run some tests. I'll be back soon." Then he turned and nearly skipped out of the room.
Aramis turned to Urd, his expression that of wonder. "How did you…?"
She shook her head, her mouth open in disbelief, but she couldn't contain the relief she felt bubbling up inside her. And who said Nurse Urd never healed anyone?
Belatedly, her thoughts turned back to her sister. "Aramis, I have a favor to ask you…"
888
Baptism by fire.
That's what the other valkyries were calling her actions. She had been forced into the crucible and come out stronger for it. She had received pats on the back, whispered thanks, and voluminous praise. Had she been a fan of spirited beverages, her tab would have been picked up at any drinking establishment in Heaven.
And at the moment, none of it mattered, except for the thirteen gods she and Yazlyn had killed.
When did it come to this? she asked herself forlornly. Why did we have to strike down our own?
Above all else, Lind considered herself a warrior. She was the defender and avenger of Heaven, sworn to protect it against all enemies. She followed a code of ethics, and prided herself on her professionalism, integrity, and morality.
When she had killed the insurgents, there had been little time to think. If she had paused to reflect, to consider all the ethical ramifications of her actions, she would have been killed.
So she had killed instead.
Many of the gods she had destroyed had had no warning, no chance to defend themselves. She had killed them in cold blood. The others had not really been a match for her, either. She had received the best training that Heaven had to offer, and she had employed it brutally. They hadn't stood a chance.
What made matters worse was these were no demons, easy to hate and therefore fight. This hadn't been a straight fight with a company of Elites, or a gallant head-on charge against the damned steeds of the Hellriders. She hadn't even been fighting in another realm in a proxy conflict as the Division was sometimes called upon to do. No, she had killed gods. Gods. Divine beings who represented the good in the universe. Even if they had been twisted into performing evil deeds, and misled by Celestin, they couldn't have been totally evil any more than a devil could be totally good. And that meant there was the possibility they could have been saved.
Even as the other Division members lauded her accomplishments, Lind could barely muster the cheer to smile. Her expression was almost ghostly, reminiscent of her countenance before Gwydion had taken her in.
Standing outside Division Headquarters, she felt chilly even in the perpetually warm air of the heavenly realm. Not so long ago she had stood here and wondered where her future led. Now she almost didn't care.
"Peace is hard to come by, isn't it?" The familiar voice startled her.
Lind turned slowly. "You knew I'd be here." It wasn't a question.
"I know you, Lind, as a daughter. I hope I could read your emotions at need. But in this case the task was not difficult." A long silence passed. "You aren't the first person who's sought solace."
"It was just so strange. The whole time, I don't remember ever feeling afraid. Not once. Frustrated, hopeless, determined, a whole assortment of feelings, but never afraid. And now I'm terrified. Terrified that that killer is all I really am."
Gwydion sighed. "We can teach valkyries to fight, seal, kill, and win. We can train them to be the greatest defense against evil that exists. But there's no training for how to deal with the consequences of our actions," he said.
Lind looked into his eyes. "Sensei, you told me why you keep fighting, but not how. How do you deal with the pain and the fear?"
Gwydion looked off towards the glow of Heaven. "I'm not sure I can answer that. Killing is an unnatural act, at least in my opinion. To destroy another sentient being, well…it affects our very souls. As warriors, we must stand ready to kill, something which is in conflict with our innate nature."
"There are some who say that valkyries are not true gods—that our ferocity and love of battle marks us as lower, callous beings. Do you think so, Lind?"
"No," she answered softly.
"Why not?" Gwydion asked.
"I feel remorse," Lind said, "for killing those gods. But I can't think of anything else I could have done."
"And there wasn't," her mentor confirmed. "Lind, justice is uncomfortable. Even when you do the right thing, it hurts. But it also has to be done. I know that what I am doing is right and good, and I have to take comfort in that as best I can."
"Is it enough?" Lind asked.
The avenging angel turned to face her, and she realized just how haggard he looked. "No. It's not enough. But it's all there is."
Lind turned away, looking back towards the lights. A long time passed before she spoke. "We're in trouble, aren't we?"
The temporary Commander nodded. "Celestin's damage to the Division system and Yggdrasil is still being discovered and repaired. We stopped him before he could sabotage anything vital, but there's a lot of damage."
"And meanwhile, Hild moves into the Roundtable without resistance." Lind sighed.
"Most of Heaven isn't aware yet of the threat," Gwydion said. "Michael and his staff have briefed the Almighty and passed authorization down for us to pursue a counterattack."
"If it comes down to it, will the Almighty One intervene personally?"
"The Almighty's ways are as unknown to me as they are to you. He still may wield a brand, they say—but if He is forced to intervene it will mean we have failed to hold the line." He sighed. "The world isn't ready for Ragnarok—and hopefully it will never be. Unfortunately, I now have to deal with some of Celestin's bitter fruit before the harvest hits us," Gwydion growled. "He may have information about Hild's plans that we can use."
"You're going to question him?'
"I don't have a choice." Gwydion's expression hardened. "Neither does he."
888
Hotarunosuke Morisato shivered. At night, when temperatures dropped, the humid air condensed on the walls of the cave and dripped down on the soldiers inside. His sweat-soaked khaki uniform chilled him, and the damp ground was not improving matters.
Hunched over, he placed a scrap of weathered parchment on his leg and did his best to write with the leftover pencil stub the soldiers had been passing around. His calligraphy was crude and almost unreadable, but he had no other options.
Reaching into his shirt, he felt for a tattered cloth pouch. Loosening the drawstring, he reached inside and pulled out a worn photograph, smudged and creased. Barely visible in the portrait was a young boy maybe three years of age.
Keima… Hotarunosuke smiled weakly. My son.
Even as his country had fallen down around him, Morisato had rebuilt his life. It was a guilt-stricken recruit who had left the shores of Honshu in 1931, but half a decade in Manchuria had diluted the anguish with the blood of other dear friends. I will never forget her, but I can't live for the dead. He had seen humanity at its best and at its worst during the war, but with the fall of northern China he had taken hope in the possibility of settlement. The Japanese government had released him from his obligation and shipped him back home.
The islands were different by then. He had just come of age when he was torn from his family and life. When he returned, he had spent a fifth of his life overseas, away from the culture that had shaped him. He had been dropped on the docks at Yokohama with a campaign bag holding all of his meager possessions and a discharge letter. His parents had moved since he had left, and if they had sent him a new address during his time overseas, he had never received it.
But I still had a life to live. My discharge would be my reset. Nothing that happened before that day would hold me back from a new life. Was I wrong to think that way?
Five years of held pay, even on meager conscripted wages, was enough to send him through a trade school for glass workers, and skills of that sort were in rising demand. The Empire was pulling out all stops on its quest to influence and guide the development of the East. The Imperial war machine needed men and supplies. Having given his body, he now bent his talent to working in industry, helping create glass panels for use on vehicles, ships, and aircraft.
With hard work and determination, he had been able to advance quickly in a society where merit was undoubtedly important. Within a year his skills had improved to the point where he was trusted with many complex procedures. Six months later, he was a shift supervisor.
Money in his pocket and skills in his head, Hotarunosuke had settled close to the very dock he had arrived on penniless. He had fought tooth and claw to pull himself up in the world, and succeeded admirably. But there was still something missing.
Despite his resolve, the seventh anniversary of his enlistment snuck up on him and pounced. The scars he had thought healed were just scabbed over, and alone after his shift they had ripped open. That night he found himself seated in a bar, drowning his wits with memories for company. Chieko was the start, but there were others. Ko, Yoji, Raizo, the idealist Lieutenant Mimura…all long gone.
He was drunk, and what was worse, he knew he was drunk. His depression was tinged with shame as he realized just how pathetic he was at that moment. The combination just encouraged him. If I never remember this night again, I'd be content with that. His memories had dimmed after wards, but he vaguely remembered being thrown out onto the street after some sort of conflict, and sitting there he had wallowed in pity and self-loathing until he had finally fallen unconscious.
They say it's always darkest before the dawn.
When he had awakened the next day, his surroundings threw him. Sunlight cascaded down onto him, diffused into a gentle glow by a paper screen. He was flat on his back on a futon with a warm blanket drawn over him.
Turning his head, he wondered for a moment if he was still dreaming, his mind warped by an alcoholic stupor. This was not the cramped apartment he returned to after his long shift at the foundry. He had been dressed in a simple cotton garment; to his right he could see his clothes neatly folded and placed on the hardwood floor next to the futon.
He shook his head. Waking up in a strange place was weird, but someone had obviously taken care of him. His cheeks burned with shame as he realized he had been picked up off the street as a common drunk.
Rising, he pulled on his cleaned clothes and slid open the room's door, hoping to thank the gentleman who lived here for his hospitality. Walking into a common room, he saw an older man sitting and bowed deeply.
"My most sincere thanks for your treatment of me, sir. I apologize for my indecency of the past night."
The man rose, smiling faintly as he bent slightly at the waist. "You are most welcome, Morisato Hotarunosuke-san. I strive to take care of my workers."
Morisato felt dizzy as he recognized the man. His boss had picked him up? He bowed low again "Yamada-sama, I must thank you again. I hope you will keep me in your employ…my actions have been most shameful."
"You were with the Kwantung in Manchukuo," Shinji Yamada said. "An engineer."
"Hai," Hotarunosuke confirmed. "I was."
"Then I understand," Yamada said. "I was at Liaoyang in 1904." The older smiled faintly again. "You should know, as well, that it was my daughter that insisted we pick you up." He turned his head and called out. "Mariko, please come here."
A young woman of about twenty years—not tall, but pretty—walked in from a side passage. She didn't meet his eyes, but instead bowed. "It is good to see that you are feeling better, sir," she said.
Hotarunosuke returned the gesture. "It seems I have that to thank you for, ma'am."
Just the slightest hint of a blush formed on her pale face—
BOOM
The ground shook gently, and around the cave small chunks of rock cascaded to the ground. Though the impact was distant, it was enough to snap Hotarunosuke out of his reverie. Other muted explosions disturbed the cave—most far away, some closer.
Some of the postcard recruits straight from basic training looked up at the cave's ceiling, fear plastered on their all-too-young faces. With every rumble they looked around as if the cave was about to collapse.
Sergeant Goto laughed shortly. "Not even close," he said for the recruits' benefit. "The Yanks have been moving in to shell the beaches. Big guns. Four hundred millimeters." He held his hands out to form a rough circle, demonstrating the size of the artillery.
"Will the navy come?" one of the recruits asked. "Are they going to drive the Americans away?"
The veterans either snickered darkly or kept silent. Goto smiled. "What did they tell you about Iwo Jima?" he asked the recruit. "That it was a vacation retreat?"
"The navy isn't coming. The army isn't coming." The sergeant grinned evilly "But the Americans are."
"Every single one of us is going to die here."
888
Celestin was kneeling, his hands and feet bound by magical cords. His posture could almost be one of penance, but his expression was totally emotionless.
He acknowledged Gwydion's entrance into the room with a nod. "Gwydion. I thought you might be coming here soon. Come to ply my mind for all my secrets, I suppose."
The avenging angel's eyes narrowed. "I don't have time for your games, Celestin. You have information I want, and you're going to give it to me."
"Ah, Gwydion…Major Gwydion," the prisoner laughed. "You fool." Celestin's words turned harsh. "You've been played for a fool all your life, and now you complete your downfall. By imprisoning me you have doomed Heaven."
"And why is that?" the warrior asked, struggling to keep his voice under control. He needed this scum.
"When Hild realizes that I have been captured, she will not hesitate to use our agreement to break the treaty. She is ready to take Heaven for her own. I think you know what I'm talking about." The Councilor's silky voice betrayed not a hint of self-reproach or doubt. "And I assure you, she is not as benevolent as I would have been."
"What was your agreement?"
"She swore to support my new regime in exchange for treaty concessions on several realms." Celestin shrugged. "She was the one who faked that pulse in the Roundtable so you'd investigate."
Gwydion's expression turned deadly. "You knew all along that it was a trap. And you stood right next to me in the operations center and didn't say a word, knowing my people were going to die."
The councilor's expression didn't change. "The team's defeat was the impetus for the Division to sortie. It was necessary."
Suddenly he was on his side, and Gwydion was on top of him, the warrior's hands tightening on his throat. "You son of a bitch!" Gwydion hissed. "I kill you myself!" Celestin struggled futilely, but there was no escape from the iron grip.
Abruptly, the pressure was gone. Gwydion stood back up, his emotions in check once again. "No," the avenging angel choked out. "You don't escape that way." He hauled Celestin to his knees again. "Now tell me what Hild's plans are."
The suave confidence in the councilor's voice had faded. "It should be obvious, really. If my plans failed, she would be in striking distance of Heaven through the Roundtable. She knows its potential, and without our agreement she won't have any qualms about marching right in and deposing the Almighty One." Celestin chuckled despite himself. "Calling her one of the great opportunists of all time might be an understatement."
He looked up into Gwydion's eyes. "But you can stop her, Gwydion. Release me!" he demanded. "If I take power and restore order, Hild will back down. She will honor the agreement."
"We may not see eye to eye on most things," Celestin continued, "but the alternative is to let darkness cover the universe. You do not want to see Lind grow in such an existence. It would destroy her, and those who are good in Heaven will perish. Free me and I can create a world without fear or suffering. Leave me here and all will pass away under tide of Hell."
Gwydion shook his head. "What would make you better than Hell?" he asked. "You treat lives as something to be tossed away, inconsequential. You tried to kill Lind, and every valkyrie in Heaven when you moved to take over the Division and Yggdrasil. You used your own student for your own ends, and didn't give a damn if it broke her. You betrayed her trust." Gwydion shook his head. "Free you? Damn you! May you rot in all the hells there ever were."
Gwydion walked over to the cell door and turned.
"Hild wouldn't have cared whether you were in power or not. She would have invaded either way. You may have very well doomed everything and everyone you ever cared about."
He hit the release on the door and walked out, shaking his head. Lind fell into step beside him. "Did he tell you anything?" she asked.
He considered for a moment. "What he wanted to tell me. But it was enough."
888
Belldandy sat motionless at the table, her eyes open but seeing nothing, her face a still as if it were carved from stone.
In the past three hours since Aramis had pulled out of the Division hospital and brought her here, Urd had yet to see her sister even twitch.
The healer had shaken her head sadly. "She's not in a coma. If you put food in her hands, she'll sometimes eat it. If you lift her up, she can stand on her own. But her spirit isn't there."
The goddess had handed her an amphora. "This is a medicine that will erase that part of your sister's memory that remembers Celestin's rebellion. It should also repair the damage her consciousness sustained."
"I know what it is," Urd had said. "Is it really necessary?"
The healer had nodded. "The Almighty has decreed it."
Now she placed it in front of her sister. "Belldandy—I was asked to give this to you."The younger goddess gave no indication she had even heard Urd speak.
Urd continued. "If you drink this, all your unhappy thoughts will just go away." The words were hollow. As if a lack of memory would truly erase time itself, she thought sadly.
Belldandy continued to stare blankly ahead. Revulsion filled Urd, revulsion for the deed she had to do. Taking the stopper off the vial, she raised it to her lips and filled her mouth with the sweet potion. Then she picked up her sister in her arms and kissed her, forcing the liquid into Belldandy's mouth.
Her sister swallowed, then slowly began to weaken and fall to the floor, going limp. But even as her muscles slackened, a single tear dropped from one eye.
A/N Not much action, fighting-wise. But there's plenty where that comes from coming up. Hope you enjoyed the more thought-oriented section. Many thanks to Davner for looking over some early drafts. As always, feedback is appreciated.
Regards,
-TF